


No Goodbyes

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, Episode Related: The Sentinel: by Blair Sandburg, M/M, None - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:24:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While dealing with separation, memories, and a sense of loss, Jim faces<br/>facts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Goodbyes

**Author's Note:**

> This is not the happiest story that I've ever written. It's set post-TSbyBS and there may be a follow-up. (Blair seems to want to have a say.) In the meantime, Jim has a lot on his mind... 

## No Goodbyes

by JC

Author's webpage: <http://www.skeeter63.org/jayci/>

Author's disclaimer: The characters from the TV series "The Sentinel" are not my property, and I am not making money off of them. That's all I have to say. 

* * *

No Goodbyes by J.C. 

Jim Ellison almost always kept his senses in check at home, now that there was no other heartbeat to track. It made him feel somewhat like an ordinary man as he sat at the desk, a pen in his hand. He wasn't focusing on the microscopic fluctuations that only he could see in the blank, white page that lay in front of him. He was aware only of the slight heft of the pen in his grip, not the minute differences in temperature or texture of the barrel. And the silence... just quiet, the same as for any normal person... the hushed stillness that surrounds someone when they're all alone. 

It had gotten to the point where Jim almost embraced the emptiness of his loft apartment. Not because he still didn't wish desperately to be able to walk through the door and be assaulted with the full court press of his partner's presence -- the way the scents and sounds of Blair's _living_ seemed to just permeate the very air there, in their home. The concept of 'Blair' and 'home' had become so closely entwined that it had been a shock the first time Jim had had to dial up his sense of smell to capture a bit of that familiar Blair essence. At the time, he had been alone for only three weeks, and it had scared him that an imprint that had been reinforced for over three years had so quickly faded away. 

Behind the French doors, Jim knew there was still a concentration of Blairness, where the remainder of his friend's belongings sat undisturbed. At first Jim had dusted in there every week, straightening things that eventually didn't need straightening, touching items just to be touching \-- reestablishing some small sense of contact as he breathed the unique collection of scents that Blair had left behind. Every so often, he would light one of the candles that his partner had liked, and the aroma would linger enough so that late at night he could still catch a whiff in the air above his bed with little extra effort. But after six months, those actions had ceased to be a comfort -- the impression left seemed stale and underused even to his heightened senses. Like finding a trunk full of clothes tucked in the corner of an attic, the faint fragrance of the owner still clinging to the garments, serving only as a reminder of how very far away they were, and how very long they had been gone. 

The appeal of the empty loft came from how good it felt to just leave everyone else behind at the end of the day. Jim found it exhausting to constantly reassure those that knew him that he was 'just fine'. And he _was_ fine. Maybe not... happy, or truly content, but he was fine in that indifferent way that people are when they simply want day to follow day. Yet everyone continued to tiptoe around him as if any minute they expected him to blow. 

He hated it, because he had been so careful about maintaining control, especially after he had strongly declined the suggestion of taking on another partner. That had been his one moment on the edge, going head to head with Simon Banks on that score. He knew that it had only been the brittle newness of his situation that had saved him, because his Captain, surprised that he too was feeling the loss, hadn't wanted to push too hard, letting it go after warning Jim that the slightest slip would result in quick changes. 

Jim hadn't allowed any slips. Blair's words and lessons, plus the memories of years of their working partnership had held him in good stead. He had been determined to do his job, to prove that he could, and not in the ordinary way, but as the man he had grown to be -- changed by five heightened senses, and changed from having had Blair Sandburg in his life. He made the decision every day to not turn away from his chosen path, and not to feel burdened by it. 

It was liberating to return home each day. There was some grim satisfaction, if not perverse comfort, in just being alone with the ghosts of memories and the shadows of regrets. Being away from the overly cautious looks that he continued to receive, most noticeably when he periodically brought up the subject of Blair. 

In those moments when he thought about the years past, looking back over the 3-1/2 years when Blair had been his partner, Jim found it amazing, the journey that the two of them had taken. Working their way from the time of the day to day trials that had come from being a Sentinel newly 'online', and a 'Guide' that was making it up as he went along. He was sure that neither one of them had really thought about how much their lives would change. Jim had simply been looking for a little control. Blair, as always, had been seeking knowledge, and had opportunely stumbled across the modern-day version of the hopes and dreams and theories that he'd had almost as long as he could remember. They both had gotten much more than they had bargained for. Blair had been drawn deeper and deeper into the gritty, grimy milieu of Jim's police world. Jim had had to face serious challenges, not just from the world without, but from within himself. Their paths had intersected in a wonderful and scary way for them both. Leading to partnership and friendship, connections deepening, linking them on so many levels. 

As he sat with his pen poised to transcribe his thoughts, it seemed reasonable to Jim, though mostly through hindsight, that one day something would have had to give -- some _real_ decision would have had to actually been made. That things couldn't possibly have continued to run unchecked, unquestioned, in the way that a one week stay had simply extended itself year after year. A small part of him had always known it, and unconsciously had tried to prepare for it, especially that last year when he had found his feelings slowly, but unerringly, and without his consent, sliding into treacherous territory. That dangerous realm beyond what he had felt when he first realized that Blair Sandburg had become his best friend \-- those deep, rough waters that he had promised himself he was better off not navigating. 

And the same-sex issue had been the _least_ of his concerns. 

Jim felt that he got along well enough with men, certainly better than with women -- he could hang out and do the macho bullshitting routine quite fine. He also thought that he made a decent friend, though with Blair it had been a harder road to travel. Having so many things tied up in that one person, that one relationship, had proven more entangling than the ordinary friendships that he shared with people like Simon. He didn't need nightmares to bring back, with stunning clarity, moments in their history where he should have said something more or done something differently. 

But one of the certainties of his life, he believed, was that he was very bad at love. And to have fallen in love with someone whose friendship was so vital... 

Besides being friends, they were roommates with a Sentinel/Guide connection, working partners on the force (which had certainly caused friction as Blair tried to juggle the double life of police work and academia). Too many variables that had never been addressed outright, but merely flowed into with false ease. 

Everything so right on one hand, so wrong on the other. 

Setting the pen down on the still blank page, Jim closed his eyes against the wet sting that suddenly assaulted them. 

Jim didn't like to think about how many fucked up chapters in his life had been written about love. And his failed marriage hadn't even been the most telling -- that honor fell to all of the failures he had experienced since, history repeating itself over and over. To him, his marriage to Carolyn hadn't been a _total_ mistake. Even looking back at it with the knowledge of how it had turned out. Because he had loved her, and had been sure at one time that she loved him. Still, it couldn't be denied that it hadn't worked -- that they had made better friends than lovers, better colleagues than husband and wife. And in the end, it had been far easier to hurt each other than it had ever been to love each other. 

It hadn't taken much time spent in the company of Blair Sandburg for him to realize that the futile attempts he had made to rekindle something with Carolyn had been borne of the fact that even the sharp-edged connection between them had seemed better than the hollowness of being alone. 

Before Blair had tackled his way into the Ellison Zone and filled the emptiness. 

But love could hurt. He had the family background to prove it, not to mention the typical divorce under his belt, his one affair with a man when rebounding from that, and the subsequent line of bad women that had been bad for him. There had been enough heartache in his life -- he didn't want to be hurt anymore, didn't want to hurt anyone else, especially not Blair. There had already been too many times when he'd seen disappointment flash across the other man's face, hurt shining brightly from the blue eyes. Pain dealt between friends. Jim hadn't wanted to risk cutting any deeper in the name of love. 

The ache that he felt from living in close proximity to what he couldn't have, and then being separated from what wasn't his, already seemed bone-deep. 

Opening his eyes, Jim looked down at a picture lying half-hidden in the folds of a well-handled, lined piece of paper. With one finger he slid it free. Blair. Tan, a bit thinner, bearded, hair tied back, though Jim could tell that it was longer, smiling into the camera. Looking happy. Incredibly happy. Happier than Jim had ever seen him in those last weeks. 

It was the picture that had decided him, that had made him sit down with pen and paper before he could lose his resolve, that had pulled the fractured pieces of his thoughts together into an arrow that was pointing in an inevitable direction. That everything he was, he owed to Blair, and he should have tried repaying that debt a long time before. 

Jim could remember seeing Blair happy. Hearing it in his voice. Right from the beginning, with the thrill of finding a living, breathing Sentinel right under his nose, and discovering exactly what that Sentinel was capable of doing, and knowing that he had been given the chance to document it, analyze it, publish it for his dissertation. Jim had never seen such a level of excitement and enthusiasm... or determination. Determination to help Jim out -- finding ways to give him control over his senses, determination to see things through with his cover as a police observer, case after case after case. 

But it hadn't been all business. Blair had brought that same level of positive intensity to Jim's personal life, unexpectedly easing in until he was _entrenched_. That was the word that came to Jim's mind. Blair had been firmly entrenched at work, at home, and everywhere in between. Just _there_. He wasn't quite sure how it had happened, except for the fact that Blair had made everything easier for him right from the beginning. But Jim did know that it had gotten to the point where he hadn't wanted to do without it. There had been a few close calls, he had even almost _literally_ lost Blair. They had had to roll with some fairly heavy punches, and it had been very difficult for Jim to face how far away they had ended from their familiar Ellison/Sandburg groove. 

Jim would have given anything for them to hit that old stride again, to have been able to glide through the aftermath of the deadly glare of the spotlight shining brightly on Blair's work, Jim's senses and their friendship. 

It had only been partly selfishness that had made Jim confront Simon with the idea of making Blair a true member of the police department as his official partner. He had been selfish enough to hope that he had found a way to hold on to all he could -- using the permanent partnership to hopefully slide them back to that level of being in sync that he sorely missed. But it was also the most that he felt he could do to repair what seemed irreparable. 

It had been a heartfelt gesture, and one which Blair had apparently appreciated, even welcomed, especially when facing the immediate impact of having to clear out of the University. Jim knew that it had given Blair a sense of belonging, reaffirming connections that he had built over the years, and making him feel better at a bad time in his life. 

Yet, it hadn't been the same. Jim realized that he had simply refused to see it, but there was no ignoring the evidence staring up at him from the desk, and he knew what he needed to do... 

Picking up the pen, he finally began to write. 

Over the years, police work had caused Jim to develop the ability to produce his careful, precise script at a quick pace, but for some reason the pen seemed to drag across the page, as if it were struggling to pull the words from his head. 

Each slowly written sentence acknowledged how much Blair had given up since first meeting a gruff cop suffering from hyperactive senses. Despite the fact that Blair had actually finished his dissertation, Jim knew that the paper had taken a back seat to the real life aspect of police work and living with a Sentinel, long before things had come to a bitter end. That hadn't made having to publicly invalidate his work any less harsh. 

Giving up his work, almost giving up his life... sacrifices made really just so that he could continue on in the world of Jim Ellison. Jim wasn't sure of all the reasons why. Just that Blair wanted to continue being a part of things, and not just because of the Sentinel issues. There was also the rush that Blair got from working cases, and the importance that he placed on their friendship. It had changed Blair, Jim knew. Taken him to a place where he was very different from that wide-eyed student waiting to set the world on its ear. 

Jim could flash back -- visions of Blair zipping through his head, but he couldn't pinpoint just exactly when it had happened. When Blair had evidently given up some sense of himself. A bitter laugh died in Jim's throat before it could choke its way free as he admitted that in a lot of ways Blair had become more like another Jim Ellison. Setting up camp in a cop's world, emulating the cop to whom he was closest. It had even become rare for Blair to leave his hair out wild and free, and rarer still for the dull gleam of an earring to be present. 

One image leapt to Jim's mind from the day that the media had first confronted them about Jim's senses, rocking their world to the core. Jim could remember, though he hadn't noticed at the time, the two of them walking by the water, arguing, dressed almost like twins, his long stride and Blair's shorter one locking in sync even through their turmoil. 

The more that Blair had changed, paralleling Jim, the more distant they had become, ironically walking literally in step, but drifting worlds apart. Still, Jim had clung to the belief that as fellow cops they would regain their equilibrium. Clung desperately to the hope that he could offer Blair a life, and at the same time make up for the mistakes that he had made. 

Jim knew when he had reached his lowest point. He had never believed that Blair had sold him out to the highest bidder, but that hadn't stopped him from saying it. He had suddenly been hit full force with the realization that one day he was really going to have to let Blair go. Maybe not to a million dollar book deal -- maybe to a tribe in some remote jungle or to a class full of eager students at a school across the country, but some way he was going to have to let Blair go, and goddammit, it was going to hurt, and right then he _hated_ Blair's 'other' life, that 'soon to be Dr. Sandburg' life, that non-Ellison world waiting to claim their favorite son. 

It hurt, and he'd wanted Blair to hurt. 

He recognized that he hadn't even been mad about the only thing he probably should have been mad about. That Blair hadn't just come to him as soon as he got the first phone call from the sleazy publisher so that they could come up with a plan together. 

So out of sync that it ached, and he'd made sure that they both had felt the pain. 

Then Blair had done the craziest thing that Jim could imagine, also the most wonderful. He still couldn't describe how it made him feel, still didn't have words to respond. But he knew that if he hadn't already been in love, he would have fallen right then, with his eyes on the screen, lump in his throat, willing back tears as Blair ripped up not just a paper that he had given years to, but his reputation as well, the seemingly last bit of 'Blair Sandburg' and that other life. What had been left of it. 

Afterwards, it had been driven home how deeply Blair had embedded himself in things outside of the University. It hadn't been just clothing and attitudes and matching calluses from gun use. It hadn't been just the living together and working together. He hadn't realized the impact of them _playing_ together. How much Blair's social life had shifted. That Blair's current friends all seemed to be centered around the police department, that even his _women_ had some connection to police personnel, or, crazily enough, sometimes a case. In the aftermath of the public sacrifice, Jim hadn't needed heightened senses to hear the blaring silence from the direction of Rainier. No friends, colleagues, girlfriends associated with his life of academia rang the phone or knocked on the door. 

Months later, nearing the end of Blair's stint at the police academy, the phone did ring. That day was imprinted clearly in Jim's mind, as well. It had been almost a year ago, and he wished that he could say that as soon as he heard the sound he knew that it was important. That the hairs on the back of his neck had stood on end, or he had felt a tingling in his fingers, or a fluttering in his belly, that his senses had briefly spiked off the charts, but all he could say was that he had listened in on it. 

As soon as Blair had said, "Oh hey, Dr. Stoddard, what can I do for you?", he had tuned in to the whole conversation. And he had been forced to come down from the fake high he had been riding while waiting for Blair to officially join the ranks of the Cascade Police Department. And make a choice, and help Blair make one as well. 

It had been the right thing to do, the _only_ thing to do, and as the pen steadily moved across the page, he knew that he was once again doing what he should. But that didn't come close to blunting the pain of letting go. 

It was only going to be for a year. Stoddard was going back to Borneo, and unbelievably to Blair, wanted the ex-grad student to come along. Jim had listened as Dr. Stoddard explained the expedition, and what he wanted Blair to contribute. He listened as Blair protested -- informing the professor of his current commitment, how even if he could get away and join the team, his presence could taint the whole project. And he listened as the protests were overridden. Stoddard said that he was running an independent project, and he had the final say on who was part of his team. That maybe Blair wouldn't be able to hold the choicest of positions, but he would be able to be an invaluable help. And most importantly, he wasn't sure what had taken place at that press conference, but he _was_ sure that Blair Sandburg was no fraud, apologizing for not offering support sooner. 

Blair was offered a year, a chance to get back in touch with something he had thought was beyond him, or at least beyond his post-press conference state of mind to navigate. But he had chosen the police department, gotten used to the idea, so he declined the offer, even as he was promising Dr. Stoddard that he would give the idea some thought. 

After hanging up the phone, he had just plopped down on the couch, informing Jim in an indifferent tone about the conversation, shrugging as he relayed how he was graduating from the academy in a few weeks, and so had turned the offer down. Smiling sadly at how good it had felt to even be considered, and then he went off to bed. 

Jim had sat, just remembering. Remembering the first time Blair had turned down Borneo, not for the sake of working on his dissertation, but for _friendship_. And the press conference... Blair practically crying on camera, maligning himself... again for his friend. Before he knew it, he had been standing in the doorway to Blair's room, saying "Go". 

He stood there explaining to Blair and, by extension, to himself, why Blair should take the chance. That although Blair loved the idea of working with Jim, he _hated_ the idea of being a cop. Hard as that was for Jim to understand, it was the truth. In Jim's mind, Blair had been a cop almost all along, but Blair hated the experience of the academy, and struggled with the feeling of being forced into the whole ordeal by his circumstances. Jim was as convincing and supportive as he could be, and in the end, Blair had said 'thanks' in a watery voice, and Jim had left him to his thoughts. And he hadn't listened in at all when Blair had called Dr. Stoddard back. 

So, ten months ago, Blair had packed a duffel and gone off, but only after promising Jim that it would just be for a year. Only after working out with Simon that there could be a place for him when he returned. Only after assuring Jim that he could be a good cop, wanted to be Jim's partner, but just hadn't liked having his options ripped from him. 

And Jim had let him go. Determined to live his life as best he could. 

Thankfully, the 'best he could' hadn't been too bad. 

But he knew that he had been waiting for the day when the year would be up. He knew that Blair would come back, and true to his word, find a way to become Detective Sandburg. And now Jim knew that he couldn't let him do that. That he had let Blair know that he was proud of his accomplishments and that he shouldn't let whatever opportunities might arise from his current position just slip away. That he should grab onto that 'other' life with all he could. 

For a brief moment, Jim had to stop writing. He let the pen fall to the desk and flexed his fingers, trying to ease the tension. Then, he picked it back up, wrote the last sentence, and signed his name. He didn't allow himself to read it over, he just folded it, put it into the envelope that he had already stamped and addressed, and sealed it up. 

Since he had been gone, Blair had written Jim almost every month. A few times it had even been more frequently. He had told Jim not to worry about answering because it would be harder to predict if mail would catch up to them. Though he had never mailed anything back, Jim had answered every one. Sometimes with pages of news about Cascade and the cops of Major Crimes, and responses to things in Blair's letters. He had saved those for Blair's return. Sometimes his answer had just been a short personal note. Those he had thrown away, afraid they revealed far more than the long missives. A few times he had simply answered out loud, talking to Blair as he cooked a meal, and once as he drove in the truck. 

This time was different -- he had to make sure that this letter actually traveled to a destination. 

Jim knew that when Blair and the rest of the expedition team returned from Borneo, they would stay in Washington, D.C. for two weeks. That was where the foundation was based to which Dr. Stoddard belonged, and the team would gather there for some intensive preliminary work on their findings before leaving it to Stoddard and his assistant. In a few weeks, that was where Jim would send his letter, so that it would be waiting when Blair arrived. 

He got up, collecting Blair's last letter to him, refolding it carefully, and putting it away. A beer found its way into his hand, but when it was half gone, he didn't remember tasting it at all. Going back to the table, he picked up the letter he had written. 

There was another reason that he had chosen that method rather than a face-to-face confrontation. Jim wasn't sure that he could handle a goodbye. He hoped that maybe once Blair understood, he would slowly slip away, almost the same as he had entered... piece by piece. That there wouldn't be a big sudden break... Blair just _gone_ from his world. 'Goodbye, Jim. Have a nice life.' Instead, Jim envisioned, 'I'll call you when I get settled... Thanks for letting me store stuff in the basement... We'll go camping next summer... See ya later.' 

He placed the letter in the basket under his keys to mail in the morning, and refused to allow his most secret fantasy to form as coherent thought. That Blair could possibly fall in love with him, and they'd find a way to be together. 

Hours later, after an evening of channel surfing, watching programs that hadn't really registered to his eye, Jim got up to head to bed. At the foot of the stairs he made an abrupt turn, and scooping up keys and letter, he walked out. Almost automatically, he extended his senses as he hit the outside air. Taking in what was to everyone else mere background noise, and keeping a sharp eye on his surroundings. Moving briskly and purposefully, until he stood in front of a mailbox. 

With determination, he opened the door of the chute, wincing slightly at the creak, dropping the letter in without hesitation, feeling the quiet clang of the door closing all the way down to his toes. Shoving his hands deeply into his pockets, he turned and slowly walked home. 

_the end_


End file.
